Statistic
by Team Jem Carstairs
Summary: Ianto Jones doesn't want to be a statistic.


**My first Torchwood fic. I adore Jack and Ianto like I have never adored another couple. I wanted to write smut, but this ended up as fluff. And, of course, if you know me you'll know it's going to end bittersweet. Please review, because I have no goddamn clue if I'm doing this right,**

**Disclaimer: All credit to my greatest love/enemy, Russell T Davies.**

Approximately 15% of workers have slept with their bosses at least once. If you consider that most of those bosses are male, that 15% is nearly 99% women. That makes Ianto Jones special.

It was never his idea to start messing around with Jack, though he never actively resisted Jack's advances. Jack, you see, seduced 99.5% of the people he wanted. The only exception was Gwen.

Now, 37% of the women who slept with their bosses were rewarded at some point, either through more important assignments or a pay raise. Like most of Jack's conquests, Ianto's reward was the chance to sleep with the famous captain.

This was a problem, because while Jack thought of Ianto as a quick, convenient shag, Ianto was 100% in love with his boss.

Ianto was not gay, despite what Rhiannon's husband thought. He was straight. He was just in love with Jack anyway, because Jack did not easily fit into a mold. He just… was. He was charming, brave, and handsome. He was quick-witted and flirtatious. And based on his track record, there was exactly zero chance he would take up Ianto as a true relationship.

Ianto liked statistics. He liked knowing the exact chance that something would happen, because although he was generally an optimist and likely to hope for the best anyway, he liked to be prepared for any and all situations. When everyone else was disappointed, Ianto was there to pick up the pieces.

This had always served him well in the past, but that all changed with Jack. Knowing there is a 0% chance something will work is often a depressing piece of knowledge, but it's even worse when the 'something' in question is a relationship with the man you're in love with.

This is also not the kind of thing one brings up, because how do you say that to someone like Jack? _Hey, Jack, we've been sleeping together for months now and I just want to say that I'm in love with you. Also, that it kills me every time I see you flirt with anyone else because I know you don't love me._ Can't be done.

Unless, of course, it progresses to the point where the way you feel about someone actually interferes with your life. When you stop eating or sleeping, when you live for the moment you see them next, when the thought of them elates you and breaks your heart in equal measure, then it's time. Then you have to tell.

He told the night they shagged on Jack's desk. Ianto often stayed late at the Hub, cleaning or filing or doing a dozen other mundane tasks no one else wanted. Sometimes, maybe 12% of the time, he never went home at all. Of the 88% of nights Ianto stayed late, roughly 53% of that time was taken up by Jack, and the number was increasing all the time. That night, when Ianto bent over the desk and spread his legs for Jack, as he always did, that's when he told.

"Jack," he murmured in the haze of a brilliant bout of lovemaking. The two of them were on the floor, curled up together and intertwined with Jack's greatcoat as a blanket. "Jack, I don't– I can't do this anymore."

For a while he thought Jack was asleep and didn't hear him; finally, though, came the rumbling reply. "Can't do what?"

"This, with you. It isn't right, I shouldn't– I can't–"

"If you're unsatisfied I can find a way to remedy that," Jack laughed. It was obvious he wasn't taking Ianto seriously, and that hurt.

"I'm not talking about the sex, Jack. Well, I am, but… This is draining me, emotionally. It… hurts."

"Ianto, _what_ are you talking about?" Jack asked exasperatedly.

"I'm saying I'm in love with you, you bloody idiot, and I know you don't feel the same, I'm not asking you to, just that you listen when I say it hurts more to be around you than it does to be alone."

Jack didn't say a thing, and Ianto didn't blame him. He had always been obedient and accommodating, almost to the point of subservience at times, with his coffee and his "Yes, sirs" and his willingness to do whatever Jack asked of him. Chances were Jack was surprised, maybe horrified, by Ianto's total honesty.

"It's just," Ianto started to explain more, "there is a low chance, maybe 3%, that a relationship between a boss and employee will work, and with you it's even lower, not even a fraction of a percent. I may be the most convenient shag but you don't need me, not even close. You could have anyone in the city, any age, any sexual orientation. I don't want you to use me just because I'm here."

There was a sharp sigh. "Ianto, how do you say 'you're an idiot' in Welsh?"

"There isn't a word for idiot."

"There should be. What's five letters, starts with _i_, and means 'someone who is so thick they don't see what's right in front of them'? _Ianto_. Why are you doubting me?"

"I don't have a reason not to," Ianto breathed. "You flirt with roughly 94% of all the people you meet, and the other 6% are dead or children. Or me," he added quickly.

"I don't have to flirt with you. You're already mine."

"I know that, my problem is that I'm yours, but you're not mine."

Jack pulled Ianto flush against him. "You keep quoting numbers. You like statistics?"

"Yes."

"Okay, here's a couple. There are almost 325,000 people in this city. At least a quarter of those people are under 20, taking them out of the running. At least a third are too old. Then you take out the people in successful relationships, the ones I've already slept with, and the ones who would rather shoot me than shag me… Well, there are still a lot of available people, but I don't want them. If I wanted them I could have them, but I'm here with you, aren't I?"

"I'm already here, willing, with feelings for you. I work for Torchwood. I'm convenient." Ianto sighed sadly. "I'm not asking you to reciprocate my feelings, I just want you to know I have them, and I might stop being with you."

Jack huffed out a harsh breath. "Ianto," he said almost irritably, his American voice distorted the round vowels of Ianto's name, "how do you say 'I love you' in Welsh?"

Ianto swallowed. "_Rwy'n dy garu di_."

"Okay, so… I can't say that, because my tongue doesn't like Welsh syllables. But I do love you, Ianto."

He wrapped his arms around Ianto, buried his head in his shoulder, and together they fell asleep, pretending for at least that night that Jack was telling the truth.


End file.
